I read random collections of poetry. We have the same eyes. Suddenly one night, giraffes fell from your dreams. Then the day slowly closed in on our eyes.

I sat and listened to the blue, blue sky, the laundry and the pigeons, seagulls, swallows (were they really swallows?). The cloud hid something from the birds.

Darkness we just called darkness and let its blanket pull itself into the day like a turbulent cloud filled with the most fragile gravity.